Having a strong heart I did not faint, but left Auntie to help the maid make the necessary additions to the table—and sardines, while Owen and I hurried out to greet them.
“Hello, dearie, here we are,” Alice called from the wagon as I approached. “Clarence and I thought it would be such fun to surprise you. How-do-you-do, Mr. Brook, I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Van Winkle.” Alice jumped off the step and threw herself into my arms. “Oh, Esther, isn’t this fun?” Gay, inconsequent Alice, from her city home, never considered for a moment that a surprise could be anything but joyous.
If I had met him in Egypt, I should have known that her husband’s name was Van Winkle—Clarence Van Winkle, it couldn’t have been anything else.
He was pale and tall and thin and rigid. The inflexibility of the combined ancestral spines had united in his back bone. He might break, he could never bend. My imagination failed when I tried to picture the meeting between the heir to the Van Winkle name and the Hamms. It was far worse than anything I could ever have imagined.
Alice was very sweet; she talked all the time, patted the five little Hamms and won their mother’s heart by asking their names and ages, but in acknowledging the introduction Clarence only bowed slightly, a movement which required great effort, then relapsed into silence immediately, scrutinizing the Hamm family through his glasses as though they were rare animals in a Zoo. Mrs. Hamm and her sister were stupefied and did not speak a word, but Mr. Hamm, a truly sociable person from Oklahoma, continually addressed Clarence as “young feller,” which produced the same effect as a violent chill, and when he joyously jogged a Van Winkle elbow to emphasize some pleasantry, Clarence firmly moved his chair out of reach of the defiling touch.
Alice ate everything and did not stop talking for a moment. Clarence refused everything but a cracker, which he munched in silence. Suddenly he turned white and left the table. Owen escorted him out-of-doors while Alice and I followed. He was faint, just faint, and collapsed weakly onto a garden seat. Alice said it was the Denver water, but I suspected unassimilated Hamm. Owen stayed with him and Alice and I returned to finish supper. The Hamms left soon after and Clarence gradually revived under the influence of Owen’s New England accent and Scotch whisky.
All at once I thought of the freshly painted guest-room floor. I explained the situation to Alice and we went up to see if it was dry. It was, but the smell of paint was most evident. Alice gave a few sniffs and said apologetically:
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Esther, but Clarence couldn’t possibly sleep here. He is so sensitive to odors of any kind.” I was reminded of a faint aroma which had clung to the Hamm garments. “If there is another room we can occupy, I think it would be better.” Alice was accustomed to hotels. I offered our room; it was reluctantly but finally accepted, the scion of the Van Winkles must not breathe paint. All the things from the guest-room were put in our room and ours were moved up to the guest-room.
Just before they retired Alice confided to me that Clarence had had some temperature in Denver and the Doctor thought he might be threatened with typhoid fever.
“I really believe, Esther, if Clarence has any temperature in the morning we had better go back to Denver.”